


The Other Half

by Brenda



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Class Differences, Class Issues, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kid Fic, M/M, Melodramatic Pre-Teen Angst, POV Clark Kent, Ridiculous boys being ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14925117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: "Sevendollars for a loaf of wheat bread?" Clark could hear his voice crack on the last word. Holy moly, that was obscene."Is that a lot?"Was that a lot?  Jeez, he was way too young to have a heart attack over bread prices.  "Yes, Bruce, that's a lot," he said.  Wheat bread cost two bucks at Coogler's, and it tasted just fine to Clark.  What was so special about the bread at Organic Eats that they had to charge five whole extra dollars for it?Or: New exchange student Clark Kent gets paired up with Bruce Wayne for a school assignment, based onthis Tumblr post.





	The Other Half

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susiecarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/gifts).



> Y'all can all blame Susie for this one - she is the worst ~~best~~ enabler ever (and I love her for it)  <3

Clark wasn't too sure what this whole student exchange program between Gotham and Smallville was supposed to accomplish, but he wanted nothing to do with it. The whole thing was totally stupid. A waste of everyone's time. His teachers said it was created to promote deeper cultural understanding between urban and rural ways of life, and how much people from disparate socio-economic backgrounds could learn from each other, but that sounded like a fat load of crock to him. It probably was more like some mega-rich asshole had decided his spoiled-ass kids needed a lesson in humility, so he'd devised some stupid program to ship the them off to a school somewhere in the middle of farm country, and had picked Smallville on a map or something. 

And maybe Smallville _could_ teach Gotham a thing or two (especially about how actual public school systems worked), but there wasn't a thing Gotham had to offer that Clark cared about. He didn't didn't need some fancy private school teacher telling him anything – and he sure as hell didn't need to be wasting his time in some stupid crowded, polluted city when it was planting season back home, and Pa needed all the hands on deck he could get.

But, everyone from his Ma to his own teachers in Smallville had insisted it was an honor to be chosen for the program and to get the 'incredible opportunity' to study at a top ten nationally ranked school for a semester. And, no matter how much he'd protested it felt more like a punishment, here he was, stuck at the Gotham Preparatory Academy For Young Minds (even the name was ridiculously pretentious, why not just say middle school and be done with it), and he hated every single thing about it.

Which, okay, fine, it would have been alright – he maybe missed the farm and his folks and his friends back home, but he liked learning new things and experiencing different cultures and all, and the teachers here were pretty cool, so it wouldn't have been so bad – except that everyone at this stupid Academy was some one-percenter's stupid brat, and Clark didn't have much patience or use for obscene displays of wealth.

From the first day he'd shown up at the dorm room he'd been expected to share with three total strangers who clearly had all known each other since birth, he felt like some sort of freak or alien. Which, he didn't need any help in that regard, thanks. And everyone treated him like some sort of exotic animal in a cage, like Smallville hadn't discovered electricity or had the internet or indoor plumbing, and screw all these dillweeds, anyway, every single person Clark knew back home was easily worth ten of anyone in Gotham, bank accounts be damned.

He just had to suck it up until the rest of the semester and then he could go back home. May couldn't come soon enough.

But, unfortunately, sucking it up meant pointless assignments in his Economics class – some pointless exercise in how to craft a budget, which, for real, maybe that was something kids with no concept of money needed to learn, but Clark knew all about how to stretch a dollar to make it last as long as possible.

"I just think I should be excused from it," he told Ms. Kline, when he walked up to her desk to get his assignment sheet. He gave her his best earnest smile, hoping she couldn't see the seething resentment under the surface. "On account of how I've been helping with the farm budget for three years running now. Maybe I could help you with grading instead, like an aide?"

Ms. Kline smiled. "That's very sweet of you, Clark, but just think of how valuable your insight will be to your partner." She handed him his sheet, and nodded towards his seat. "Besides, I've noticed you haven't made any friends yet, and this might give you an opportunity to talk to someone new."

Clark didn't think forcing him to talk to anyone for a class would help him make friends, but he was smart enough to know when he was beat. So he dejectedly nodded and sat back down, and waited until Ms. Kline had passed out all of the sheets.

"Alright, class, I've gone ahead and paired you with a partner – and it was completely random, so no complaining how it's not fair you can't do this with your BFF," Ms. Kline said, over loud groans and protestations. "Out in the world, you won't always get to work with your friends, so it's best to start learning how to work with a stranger early."

Clark looked down at his paper, and this was great, honestly freakin' _great_. Just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse, karma had to bite him right in the ass.

Ms. Kline had paired with Bruce friggin' Wayne, of all people. Only _the_ wealthiest kid in the school, and this on a campus filled with the sons of senators and CEOs and business tycoons. Bruce Wayne, with his brooding air and indifferent attitude and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to disapprove of everything. Bruce Wayne, who hadn't even bothered to exchange an entire sentence with Clark, despite the fact that he'd been at the school for a month already.

This was going to be such a disaster – why hadn't Ms. Kline just just tossed him to the stupid wolves and been done with it?

Clark glared down at the sheet, wishing in vain for the power to change assignments with, well, anyone, really, but he was totally SoL. And, when he glanced across the room, Bruce was totally scowling down at his paper like he could set fire to it with the power of his mind. Clearly, he wasn't any happier about this whole situation than Clark was. Which was fine. No matter what Ms. Kline said, Clark wasn't here to make friends.

He may as well get this over as quick as possible.

Clark reluctantly pushed himself to leaden feet and trudged over to Bruce. "Hey," he mumbled, slinging his backpack on the table and slouching into the vacant seat. "Guess we're partners."

"Looks like." Bruce brushed floppy, jet-black bangs from his forehead, and stared thoughtfully at Clark. "Clark Kent, right? The exchange student from Smallville?"

"Yeah." Clark didn't bother pointing out that they had three classes together, if Bruce was in the mood to get to know him.

"What's Smallville like?" Bruce asked. "That's in Kansas, right? I've never been west of the Mississippi."

"It's okay," Clark said, with another shrug. Best not to show any weakness around Bruce – he knew how the popular, rich kids rolled. "Typical small town. Mostly farm area."

"Sounds peaceful, having all that space. Must be nice," Bruce replied, leaning in and resting his elbows on the table. The perfect picture of earnestness; his dad had clearly started grooming him young to be a politician.

Clark thought wistfully about late nights in the summer, camped out in the backyard and looking up at the untold stars twinkling in the vast black sky overhead, the corn rustling and cicadas chirping the only sounds for miles, and viciously trampled on the wave of homesickness. God, he couldn't wait to get back home. 

"You'd probably find it boring," he said sharply, irritated with Bruce and his insincere small talk and the entire stupid situation.

Bruce gave Clark a look he couldn't decipher, then offered his own shrug. "Whatever," he said, the fake warmth from earlier now an icy chill, and tipped his chair back on two legs. "You ready?" 

"Totally." The sooner they finished this assignment, the sooner they could go back to ignoring each other.

"So, what are we budgeting, anyway?" Bruce asked, after a moment of strained silence.

Clark thought about telling him he could just look at his own sheet if he was so curious, but that would probably just start an argument, and he wasn't in the mood. Bruce was probably too used to minions doing all of his grunt work for him anyway. "Um, it says we have a $2000 a month income, and we need to make a family household budget out of it."

Bruce made a thoughtful noise. "$2000 a month doesn't seem like a lot, especially for a two-person income."

"Are you kidding?" Clark was sure his eyes were bugging out of his head. "That's a fortune." 

Some of his friends back in Smallville didn't even have half that, and their parents worked more than one job. Besides, what did Bruce Wayne know about a two-person income family? His folks had probably never worked a day in their lives, just lived off the interest of the Wayne Enterprises billions.

Bruce shrugged. "If you say so."

"I think I know more about living on a budget than you." Yeesh, how did he get paired with the one person who probably thought of two grand as pocket change?

"I wasn't saying you didn't," Bruce said, but didn't elaborate. And, after another uncomfortable moment, he gestured at Clark. "So, what's first?"

"Um." Clark hastily peered at the items neatly typed on the spreadsheet. "Well, we have to set aside $700 for our mortgage" – Clark felt that was too low, but whatever, maybe housing in Gotham worked differently – "and $150 for utilities and another $100 for one metro card –"

"Metro card?" Bruce frowned, setting the chair back on all four legs with a decided thump. "Why only one card? Wouldn't both of us need one? And why don't we have a car?"

"Cars are expensive to maintain, probably," Clark guessed. "My pop's truck keeps breaking down, but we don't have money to get another one, so he keeps doing his best to repair it. I think it's more duct tape and wire than car parts these days."

Bruce's lips pursed as he drummed his fingers on the table. "That doesn't seem very safe. Combustible engines aren't something one should trifle with without a background in engineering. He should leave the repairs to a mechanic."

Clark snorted. Bruce sounded like Clark's Great-Aunt Edna, all snooty and self-important. "Yeah, try telling that to my pops," he said. "Besides, mechanics also cost money."

"Okay, but I think we both need metro cards," Bruce said. "I'm assuming we both have jobs we'd need to get to."

The sheet didn't specify, but that made the most sense. "Maybe one of us works from home?"

Bruce didn't look very mollified, but he stopped scowling, which was progress. "I suppose I can allow it."

"Gee, thanks, Your Majesty," Clark drawled, deadpan.

Bruce replied by giving him the finger. "Blow me."

" _Bruce_!" Clark hissed, and hurriedly glanced at Ms. Kline, who was thankfully across the room and helping out another group. 

"What?" Bruce asked, seemingly unconcerned with the prospect of detention or suspension if he'd been overheard or seen. Then again, his dad had probably bought a building on campus or was best friends with the headmaster, so maybe he thought the normal rules didn't apply to him. 

They rarely did where mega-rich people were concerned, Clark had found. Which was another reason money was pretty much evil.

"Never mind," he said, "it's not important."

Bruce gave him another searching look, but when Clark said nothing, he slouched back in his seat. "Fine," he said. "So, we have $950 so far in expenses, which leaves, what, exactly?"

"Everything else." Clark looked at the sheet. "We'll need a grocery budget, for starters." 

"Okay." Bruce finally picked up his own paper and scanned it. "It says we need a weekly meal plan."

"Okay, well, um, we can price everything we need on the Coogler's website –"

"Coogler's?"

"Yeah?" Why was Bruce looking at him like he wasn't speaking English? "You guys don't have Coogler's here?"

Bruce wrinkled his nose and worried at his lower lip with his teeth. "Is that a grocery store?" he asked. When Clark nodded, he shrugged. "I only know about Organic Eats." 

"Organic Eats?" Clark repeated. "Is that like Whole Foods?" Which, Whole Foods was already over-priced enough.

Bruce opened his sleek-looking laptop – top of the line, of course, he could probably run the entire school from it – and started rapidly typing. Then he turned the screen Clark's way to show the Organic Eats website. "I dunno, you tell me."

Clark used the touchpad to pull up the grains section and his eyes threatened to bug out of his head. " _Seven_ dollars for a loaf of wheat bread?" He could hear his voice crack on the last word. Holy moly, that was obscene. 

"Is that a lot?"

Was that a lot? Jeez, he was way too young to have a heart attack over bread prices. " _Yes_ , Bruce, that's a lot," he said. Wheat bread cost two bucks at Coogler's, and it tasted just fine to Clark. What was so special about the bread at Organic Eats that they had to charge five whole extra dollars for it?

"Well, it's what I eat for breakfast," Bruce replied, crossing his arms over his slender chest. "Two slices of non-GMO whole grain nut bread from Organic Eats, lightly toasted on one side, with sesame seed oil sprinkled on top."

Clark blinked, stumped. "With what now?" 

"Sesame seed oil." Bruce looked down his regal nose at Clark like he was passing judgement on Clark's pedestrian tastes in breakfast foods. "Haven't you ever had it?"

"Uh, no." Clark didn't even know what it was, so he typed in sesame seed oil in the Organic Eats search bar – and quickly looked up in horror at Bruce. "It's _twelve_ dollars a bottle!" 

"Is it?" Bruce said, carelessly, like the price meant nothing to him. Which, it probably didn't. "I guess that's a lot, too?"

"You _guess_ that's a lot..." Clark bit back the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. The point of this exercise was to teach jerks like Bruce Wayne the value of money and how to make a budget. And spending twelve frickin' bucks on a small bottle of oil to put on his dumb toast was just crazy. 

"Yes," he finally offered, after taking a deep breath to calm down. "That's really expensive. I don't think we can justify it if we're supposed to be buying enough groceries to last for a month, not to mention our other expenses, which we haven't even gotten to yet." But, when Bruce's face fell, he added (because he was a great big softie when it came down to it): "What does it taste like? The sesame seed oil, I mean?"

"I dunno, it's nutty? But more, um, intense." 

"Maybe we can buy peanut butter instead?" That had to be less expensive, because Clark ate PB&Js all the time. In fact, that was his lunch today – PB&J on whole wheat with the crusts on, and carrots, because he was a growing boy, so his ma kept saying. Frankly, he was already taller than all the other boys in his class, so he wasn't sure how much more growing he needed to do, but he wasn't about to argue with her about it. He may be stubborn, but he wasn't stupid.

"I guess so," Bruce replied, still frowning a little, but it wasn't nearly as fearsome as before. 

"Besides, we can use it for sandwiches for the kids. Maybe buy some bananas, too, so they can have –"

"The what?" Bruce asked, in a strangled voice.

"The kids?" Clark repeated, mystified.

"There are _kids_?" Bruce asked, his brows climbing up to his hairline. "We have _kids_?"

"Um, yes?" Clark didn't know why Bruce was looking at him like Clark had said something terrible. "The sheet says we need to make a family budget, remember, so we have to be a family – you know, like, two parents and two kids, that sort of thing?"

"Two?" If possible, Bruce paled even further. He swallowed audibly, his big blue eyes saucer-wide. 

He looked like someone had told him his dog had just died, which was ridiculous. This wasn't anything to make a big deal over.

"Look," Clark said, impatient, "are you being weird because we're both boys, because I thought Gotham was supposed to be all enlightened and liberal –"

"What?" Bruce seemed to come out of his stupor long enough to shake his head vigorously. "No one cares anymore if kids have two dads or two moms, that's just stupid," he said, easing Clark's concerns somewhat. 

"Then what's the problem?" he asked, fisting his hands at his hips.

"I, um..." Bruce took a shaky breath, and looked down. "Clark, I can't have kids."

Clark scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Well, no shi–duh, Sherlock, you have to be a girl for that, haven't they taught you guys basic sex ed yet?"

"No, I mean, I _can't_ have kids," Bruce reiterated, although it still didn't make any sense. Everyone knew boys couldn't have kids. "I just can't. It wouldn't be right."

Wouldn't be right? What did that even _mean_?

"Is this a religion thing?" Clark asked, lost. "We're probably supposed to be married, if that makes you feel better." 

" _Married_?" Bruce yelled, and every head in the classroom whipped around to stare at their little corner. "We're supposed to be _married_?"

Clark slunk down so low in his seat that the top of his head was just about table level. He could feel both his cheeks and the top of his ears burning. "Forget it, I should have known I wasn't good enough to be in your family," he mumbled, hating the tremble in his voice more than anything. He didn't want to be married to stupid Bruce Wayne anyway.

"That's not what I –" Bruce let out a shaky breath, and laid his hands flat on the table. "Look, if we're supposed to be married for this, I guess – it's just, I mean, I never thought –"

"It's fine –"

"Nope, you said we're supposed to be married, so we're married."

Clark popped back up, his spine now so straight it could double as a flag pole. If Bruce wanted to be all stubborn and weird about it, Clark didn't care. " _Fine_." 

"Jesus, you're a real..." Bruce stopped and shook his head. "You know what, let's just finish the damn meal plan," he said, and stabbed a finger at the sheet. "Toast with peanut butter for breakfast. What about lunch?"

Sure, _now_ Bruce wanted to talk about the assignment, like he hadn't just humiliated Clark in front of the entire class. Not even an apology or anything, which, whatever, Clark didn't even know why he'd been hoping for one. 

And, right now, he was willing to do anything to get this over and done with as quickly as possible so he could never talk to Bruce Wayne again. "Sandwiches," he said, curtly. 

"That's good for me and you, but I think we need to feed the kids something more nutritious than sandwiches," Bruce replied, all normal, like he either didn't notice or didn't care that Clark was Not In The Mood. "They need milk and fruits and vegetables and lots of proteins. Like, chicken or salmon or something."

Clark tilted his head to the side. Yeah, he was back to being mystified. "For someone who doesn't want kids, you're pretty knowledgeable about how you want to feed them."

"I never said I didn't want –" Bruce huffed out another breath. "Just forget it, you wouldn't understand."

"Guess not." Not that Clark _wanted_ to understand him, anyway. If Bruce wanted to be all whoop-de-do mysterious, that was all on him. Clark was so not interested in playing detective.

"So how are we gonna make sure they get nutritious lunches?" Bruce asked.

"Well, I don't know how things are in Gotham, but in Smallville, all the kids in public schools get school lunches, and those always have veggies and apples and milk." 

Bruce's brows lowered again, the space between them wrinkling. "Are you saying we're so poor we can't take care of our children?"

What did being poor have to do with anything? "No, that's not –"

Bruce swiped his hair angrily off his forehead. He was all but vibrating in his seat. "Because we're not having kids we can't afford, that's just irresponsible parenting."

Great, now Bruce thought poor parents were irresponsible – what a fucking dick, pardon his French. "Well, that's just _stupid_ , there are plenty of parents out there without money and they're very responsible people. And they're not abandoning their kids by giving them school lunches, either," Clark added, with a decisive nod. 

"If their kids are so hungry they need public assistance –"

"Jesus, you spoiled little –" _He's not worth it_ , Clark reminded himself. After this year, he'd never see Bruce or his stupid superior attitude again. "It's the school's _job_ to provide lunch for the students."

"It's the school's _job_ to provide a proper education," Bruce countered, mulishly. "It's the parents' job to provide food and housing, which is what _we_ should be doing as responsible parents. Not abandoning them to the system, and hoping for the best."

"We're not abandoning them into the system, that's just how things are for normal people who have to work for a living," Clark argued, trying to keep his voice level. "Besides, we're on a tight budget, remember."

"We should still be able to feed our kids."

Clark pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb to try to stave off the headache he could feel building. He was way too young for this kind of stress. Wasn't that supposed to wait until at least high school? "You really are sheltered, aren't you?" 

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Clark sighed, too tired to even bother at this point. "Let's just move on to dinner, okay."

"Fine." Bruce clearly didn't want to let it go, but he slumped back bonelessly in his chair. "I'm guessing Gaeng Keaw Wan is out, since we probably can't afford coconut milk or spring basil, huh."

Coconut milk and spring basil? What on earth were Bruce's parents feeding him? Maybe that explained his weird attitude – Clark would be cranky too if he wasn't eating normal people food. "Ma usually makes meatloaf or chicken primavera or casseroles for dinner. She makes a mean lasagna, too."

"Lasagna's fine, as long as it's vegetarian, but not the other stuff," Bruce said. "I'm off meat."

"You...what?" Clark asked, feeling like he was in some sort of wild mirror universe where up was down or something. Bruce was just about the most nonsensical person he'd ever met in his life.

"I'm not eating meat this year," Bruce explained, like that actually _explained_ anything.

"You're not eating meat this year?"

"Nope. Just tofu and beans and lots of fresh, dark, leafy vegetables," Bruce replied. "It's important to have a well-balanced and varied diet for my train–uh, well, anyway, it just is."

"Tofu and dark leafy veggies." Clark made a face. That sounded so gross. Which explained a lot, alright. "I bet you drive your mother nuts when you guys go grocery shopping."

Bruce's gaze dropped to the table. "No," he murmured, his thumb scraping over old, scarred wood. "I don't...we, uh, never went grocery shopping together."

Clark should have guessed as much. A wealthy family like Bruce's probably had a housekeeper or maid to do the shopping for them. "Well, we'll figure something out, but I'm not raising vegetarian kids. I don't think that's good for them."

"How would you know what's good for them, you're the one that wants us to overburden the school system by forcing them to act as meal givers when that money could be used for school supplies or for teacher raises or hiring more counselors or –"

"Hey, I never said I was going to force –"

"What sort of parent just _dumps_ their kids off at school hungry and hopes for the best, anyway?" Bruce continued, his lower lip trembling. He looked a little like he was getting ready to be sick. Probably the all the dumb tofu he was eating, Clark thought, uncharitably.

"No one is _dumping_ anyone –"

"Because good parents are _there_ and..and they provide for their kids –"

Clark had just about had it up to his _ass_ with being lectured by some spoiled brat kid who had no idea how the real world actually worked or what normal people went through every day.

He shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly across the tiles. "Jesus, shut _up_ already, what would you know about good parents – yours dumped you off at a boarding school and I don't blame them!"

His voice must've carried a lot farther than he'd thought, because he could hear a collective gasp go up around the room. Even Ms. Kline turned their way. Across from him, all of the blood in Bruce's face seemed to drain away, turning his skin a sallow sort of yellow.

"Clark, may I see you at –" Ms. Kline started, as Bruce staggered, stumbling, to his feet.

"I gotta, uh..." Bruce trailed off, and stared at some point past Clark's shoulder, his eyes unfocused and wild. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost. A second later, he bolted for the door at the front of the classroom.

There was a beat of stunned silence, then Calvin Milner called out: "Way to go, Kent, bringing up his parents. What a douchebag!"

"Calvin!" 

Clark ignored Ms. Kline, and whirled around, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Shut up, you don't –"

"I don't even _like_ Bruce, and I'm not asshole enough to bring up his dead parents," Andre Davis added, which, wait, _what_.

"Dead?" Clark repeated. Bruce's parents were _dead_?

Ms. Kline tried again. "Alright, class, this isn't the place –"

"Murdered right in front of him, too, I heard it was pretty gruesome," Benjamin Hill interrupted, his voice hushed and weirdly gleeful. "And the never caught the guy who –"

"Benji, that's _enough_!" Ms. Kline ordered, her voice whipping through the air. "From _all_ of you." 

Murdered? Holy crap, this was...and Clark had just...oh, jeez... 

Every bit of anger and resentment fizzled right out of his system, leaving him deflated and empty. "I'm sorry," he whispered, horrified, "I didn't know, I swear –" 

"It's alright, Clark," Ms. Kline said gently. "There's no reason you should have."

Clark's feet felt frozen in place. He didn't dare look up, lest he meet anyone's judgemental gaze. "I'm really sorry," he repeated, sick to his stomach.

He felt like the lowest snake to ever slither across the earth. Bruce's mom and dad had been _murdered_. Right in front of him, too, which, that was so messed up. Clark couldn't even _imagine_ what that felt like. Couldn't even fathom what life would be like without either of his parents, let alone both of them. Let alone losing them so violently. And Bruce had to live with that every single day.

No wonder Bruce was so prickly and defensive. No wonder he had no idea what a normal breakfast was. Who was there to teach him?

And here Clark had been, all combative and spoiling for a fight. Just itching for an excuse to lash out at someone – at anyone at all – and using poor Bruce as a scapegoat for all of his own resentment and prejudices about rich people. Which, who cared how much money Bruce's family had if he didn't actually _have_ a family to share it with? Clark would be willing to bet anything that Bruce would give up his entire fortune if it meant getting his parents back. 

Jeez, he needed to apologize to Bruce. Right away.

He grabbed his backpack, and dashed into the hallway, the door banging shut behind him. He was totally going to get detention for just walking out of class like that, but he had bigger concerns at the moment. Namely, trying to figure out where Bruce would have gone. There was no sign of him, but he couldn't have gotten that far. 

He'd have to get signed in by a TA if he wanted to go back to his dorm room, so that was probably out, but there were still plenty of places to hide. And, if someone had done to him what Clark had done to Bruce, Clark would want to hide as far from prying eyes as possible. Which, normally, Clark was all about respecting another person's space, but this wasn't normal. Bruce was hurting and it was all Clark's fault, and he was the only person who could fix it.

He walked slowly around the campus, keeping his eyes and ears peeled, attuned to anything that looked or sounded out of the ordinary, but he wasn't having much luck. There were so many places Bruce could have gone. So many little nooks and crannies, and Clark hadn't been here nearly long enough to know them all. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he had to keep trying, he couldn't just let Bruce think –

Then he heard it. A faint sniffling sound, barely audible, from the perfectly manicured forest just beyond the baseball field. Acting on instinct, he followed the sound into a small grove of trees, and found Bruce huddled on the ground, with his knees against his chest and his bangs shielding his face, at the base of one of the trees. He looked smaller somehow – small and young, even though Clark knew they were the same age.

Bruce must've heard Clark arriving – he wasn't exactly trying to sneak around – but he didn't lift his head or acknowledge him in any way. Just kept staring at the grass, even though Clark was pretty sure he wasn't actually _looking_ at anything in particular. 

Clark's heart went out to him. How had forgotten his ma's teachings about treating everyone around him with respect and dignity? _You don't know what weight other people are carrying, Clark_ , she'd always said, _and kindness costs nothing_. 

Well, Bruce could definitely use a bit of kindness right now.

He dropped, cross-legged, across from Bruce and offered what he hoped was his best and brightest smile. He had no idea how to say he was the sorriest person who ever lived for being a total ass, and Bruce probably wasn't interested in any apology he might make anyway, but he had to try to get them back on even footing. 

And not just because they had an assignment to finish...wait, the assignment! That was it!

"So, uh, here's the deal," he started, trying his best for nonchalant, "I don't believe in divorce, so we're just going to have to work through our parenting differences like...well, uh, like mature pre-teens." 

Bruce raised eyes that were shiny with unshed tears (tears Bruce was probably trying desperately not to shed), and stared at Clark like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Clark just kept smiling at him, all sunny and artless, and prayed he hadn't just made another big mistake. 

The tension finally broke when Bruce shrugged. "Teens, not pre-teens," he mumbled. His face was splotchy red. "I'm almost 14."

Almost...wait, then why was Bruce in Clark's grade, not in...oh. Oh, wait. "You were held back after your, um, your parents?" he guessed, gently.

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, after they, uh...well, anyway, I didn't go back until the next school year."

"I'm sorry, that must suck." Clark winced as soon as he said it – compared to losing his _parents_ , why would Bruce give a damn if he'd been held back a year?

Thankfully, Bruce took it in stride. "It's okay," he replied. "I'm getting ready to skip eighth grade, so I'll be all caught up come next year."

"Smart as you are, you could probably skip eighth _and_ ninth grade," Clark said diplomatically, although he meant every word. Even in the short time he'd been here, he'd noticed Bruce was at the top of the class, grades-wise. 

Bruce let out a scoff, but his lips curved up. "Well, right now, I'd settle for finishing this assignment and hopefully not getting detention," he said. "Ms. Kline's probably having a coronary right now."

"I think she gets it," Clark told him. "But, if you wanted to get on her good side, we probably need a better grocery plan," he said, inching closer as he pulled out his battered notebook.

Bruce swiped at his nose, and dropped his hands to his sides. "I guess plain wheat bread with peanut butter would be okay for breakfast," he offered. "If you're sure that's something kids would eat."

"If I'm sure?" Clark asked, his jaw dropping. "You've never had peanut butter toast?"

Bruce was silent for a minute, then shook his head. "I don't think I've ever had peanut butter at all."

Never had peanut butter at _all_? How was that even _possible_? Clark was pretty sure that went against the Geneva Convention.

"But...but...what about pb&js? Everyone's had pb&js – I think that's a Constitutional Amendment." 

"I think we skipped that Amendment in class," Bruce replied, chuckling, and cocked his head. "Are they that good?"

Bruce may be richer than Clark could imagine, but he sure was poor when it came to the important things in life.

Clark opened his backpack again, pulled out his lunch bag, and fished one of his sandwiches out. Then, he offered one half to Bruce. "You wanna find out?" 

Bruce's fingers were cool when they brushed against his. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," Clark replied, and inched just a little closer. "Besides, we're married, right? So what's yours is mine and vice versa."

Bruce finally smiled at him, full-lipped and wide. Made those big blue eyes of his seem even bigger. "Well, in that case, I'll bring some Lad Na for lunch tomorrow."

Clark wrinkled his nose. "Lad what?"

"It's basically noodles in gravy, but it's an oyster sauce base," Bruce told him. "It's really popular in Thailand."

It sounded disgusting, but Clark wasn't about to say anything to ruin their fragile truce. He liked Bruce smiling at him a lot more than the frowns or scowls. "How do you know so much about Thai food?" he asked, instead, tearing off a piece of crust from his half and popping it into his mouth.

"Oh, I...I'm going to school in Thailand," Bruce replied, after a long beat of silence. "When I turn 16."

"Yeah?" Clark perked up. He wanted to travel and see the world after he graduated high school more than anything. But only after making sure Pa had help on the farm, of course. "That sounds cool. Do they have good school programs in Thailand?"

"For what I want to study, yes," Bruce replied, then took a big bite of his sandwich. His eyes immediately widened to giant round balls. "Th's's'mz'ng!" he exclaimed, in a muffled voice.

Clark grinned. Bruce looked positively adorable with his cheeks all puffed out like that. "Ma's special homemade blackberry preserves," he said, proudly. 

"S'really good." Bruce's smile turned shy as he ducked his head, but he couldn't quite hide his blush. "Maybe you, uh, could tell her thank you for me?"

"Yeah, of course," Clark said. "I'll ask her to send an extra jar in my next care package, so you'll have one."

"What, like a wedding gift?" 

Clark paused. He thought Bruce might be joking, but it was hard to tell. "Uh, if you wanted?" he offered. "Does this mean we're sticking it out?"

"Well, I'm not raising our kids alone," Bruce stated, after he'd swallowed his next bite.

Clark pointed at himself and gave his most affronted look. "What kind of a husband do you think I am that I'd abandon you and the kids?"

"I don't think you would at all," Bruce replied, seriously. "You're a pretty stand-up guy. No one else would have tried to find me."

"Uh, thanks," Clark replied, with a solemn nod, even though his breath was a little fluttery in his lungs. 

"So, let's get back to planning dinner," Bruce said, tapping at the paper, and thankfully getting Clark's head back in the game.

"Fine, but we gotta feed them normal things sometimes, like spaghetti or mac-n-cheese."

"Only if we serve them with salads."

"You and your vegetables," Clark lamented, shaking his head. "See, this is why I'm the cool dad."

"In your dreams, Kent," Bruce scoffed, and shoved most of his sandwich in his mouth.

Yeah, he definitely liked this relaxed and joking side of Bruce a lot better, Clark thought, and fished his phone out of his backpack so he could text his ma. If Bruce thought her blackberry preserves were great, he was going to go into raptures when he tried her her strawberry jam. Oh, and maybe she could send some of her chocolate chunk coconut cookies, too, Bruce totally was missing out on that, and there was some elderflower honey from Ms. Millbanks that Bruce had to try... 

  
(And, twenty years later, when these two nerds finally got their acts together and got married for real, they totally served PB&Js on whole wheat bread (with Martha Kent's special blackberry preserves) as appetizers at the wedding reception. :D)

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Boop for looking this over!!!! All remaining mistakes are on me. <3
> 
> You can now follow me on [Tumblr](https://brendaonao3.tumblr.com)!


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